


(not) just friends / "Sonnet 87"

by ChrisJP



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: I Don't Even Know, Light Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, i'm still working on it, kinda fluff I guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisJP/pseuds/ChrisJP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thou art too dear for my possessing", Shakespeare once wrote. And Sherlock never truly understood how could a person be “too dear” for another, that somebody could love another human being so much that they couldn’t have them… until he met John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a drink

It had become a habit of them. In the times they both lived in 221B, they did it at least every two months or so, especially after a particularly complicated case. It helped them to escape from the world they were trying to save for a few hours. And even after those three years, after John’s wedding and after his divorce, they kept doing it. It seemed like tons of things had changed between the two of them, and they might had. But nothing in the world would change the fact that John’s favorite person to drink with was Sherlock, and that the only person Sherlock would allow to see him even a little bit inebriated, was John.  
  
The consulting detective was bent over the kitchen table working on some petri dishes when his phone buzzed.  
  
I’m going to Dublin next week –JW  
  
Wanna come over and have a drink? –JW  
  
The corners of Sherlock’s mouth turned upwards. He looked at a petri dish with some bubbling red substance and he checked the hour on his phone before he texted his answer and went to get his coat.  
  
When John Watson’s phone’s screen enlightened with his best friend’s answer, he couldn’t help a smile.  
  
On my way –SH  
  
Just a drink –SH  
  
Maybe two –SH  
  
Experiment –SH

 

20 minutes later, John was hugging the slender coated figure that had been standing in front of his door. It wasn’t weird at all. When Sherlock returned from the death the first thing John did was hug him, right after he punched him in the face. Since then, they hugged just like normal friends would do.  
  
“So…” John said once they were both inside the apartment he had rented after his divorce “What are you working on?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“The experiment, you said you were on an experiment.”  
  
“Oh, yes. Well, it’s nothing. Something I already did in Saint Bart’s, I just want to make sure the results are the same in a contaminated environment.”  
  
“Like the kitchen table?” John asked with a smile.  
  
“Yes” Sherlock smirked before he answered “Exactly like the kitchen table.”  
  
They stared at each other and kept smiling. It was good to get to spend some time with your best friend.  
  
“So… want a drink”  
  
“What do you have?”  
  
“Well…” John opened the fridge door “only beer”.  
  
Sherlock frowned. He didn’t like beer. He was more the kind of man who liked strong drinks like absinthe or scotch if he wanted to get drunk, and if it was a matter of taste, a red wine would always do. But beer was just so simple, so artless, and its alcohol content was so low, it just bored him.  
  
“Sorry” John shrugged.  
  
“It’s alright” Sherlock smiled, taking one can from the fridge and opening it.  
  
They sat on a couch on the living room and Sherlock counted 20 empty cans of beer scattered on the table and floor. John caught him looking at them and clarified:  
  
“Some friends from work came earlier”.  
  
“Obviously” shrugged Sherlock.  
  
John had to bite his tongue not to say or ask anything. As much as he loved Sherlock’s display of his gigantic intellect, tonight he didn’t want Sherlock to be The Great Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective; he just wanted him to be Sherlock Holmes, his best friend.  
So they talked about random stuffs, and John thought that was one of those moments that made life worth living: just sitting there or anywhere, talking with his friend and watching him being all excited about gruesome murders. It made him miss being on 221B with Sherlock. Yes, it was a hell sometimes but most of the time it was awesome, and it was also nice to have someone around. 

Hours went by and they kept talking, and Sherlock thought that was the most amazing thing about John. Yes, he might be ordinary, but he was one of the few ordinary people Sherlock could actually keep a longer-than-two-minutes conversation without killing half of his brain cells. And John understood him, in a certain way. John hardly ever questioned his un-orthodox methods and called him out on his shit when necessary. John saved the life while he was too busy trying to solve the mystery. John balanced him. John… was saying something.  
  
Something Sherlock could seriously not believe he had just heard, but he knew his ears were working perfectly well and there was no music or any other loud sound to distort the words he should have definitely heard just now. Only he couldn’t. Could he?  
  
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sherlock asked, blinking repeatedly, trying to seem as puzzled as he was.  
  
“I…” John sighed “I would like to kiss you.”


	2. “Why?”

Sherlock just sat there. Staring at John like it was a living dinosaur that could not possibly be there, in front of him, saying those things. But, indeed, he was. Not a dinosaur, obviously, but there. Saying those things, saying he would like to kiss him.  
  
Sherlock had never been so puzzled in his entire life.  
  
Despite what his brother may think, the youngest Holmes had some experience on the subject of kissing and it had, in fact, been very pleasurable. Sometimes it had been about cases, others just for the fun of it. He didn’t see elaborated saliva exchanges as surrounded by cultural meanings as most people did and he would gladly kiss anybody who asked him for it.  
  
But not John. Just… not John. Not _his_ John. John Watson, his companion, his ex-flat mate, his best friend, his partner in crime-fighting and in crime itself. Please, whatever gods may be. Not John.  
  
It was already bad enough knowing half the population of London was “shipping” them (Sherlock swore to stay the fuck away from so called fan-blogs after he saw a drawing he knows he ‘deleted’ from his mind for a reason), but now Watson himself was asking for it? They had always ignored people who thought they were in a relationship. Sherlock had decided to simply not think about it because he didn’t want to face the implications of having that idea running inside his mind for too long and he actually considered himself married to his work, and John had stated more times than necessary that he was heterosexual and had no interest what so ever in his friend… until now.  
  
 _But why? This is not the first time you’ve wanted to kiss me, now is it? No, of course not. It’s right there, in the way you curve your lips._  
  
 _But why? Why would you wait until now to say something about it? Why now?_  
  
 _Is it because of the alcohol? No, we’ve drink plenty of times before. I’m not even slightly dizzy, and you… well, you were drinking before I came. But you’re not drunk now, are you?_  
  
 _No, of course not, it would take a lot more of alcohol to get you inebriated enough to be asking the kind of things you wouldn’t like to remember tomorrow._  
  
Sherlock stared at John, completely confused.  
  
  
“Why?”  
  
 _And why didn’t I notice before?_  
  
“I don’t know why. I just… I feel like kissing you.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes scanned John’s face, looking for clues. But he couldn’t seem to read them, not now, not when his own brain was thinking so much so fast, looking for hidden information somewhere that might help him get through this without affecting _too much_ their current relationship. But there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t alter their relationship, he knew it.  
  
What he didn’t know was what he was actually agreeing to when he whispered a really weak “Okay” and let John lean in to meet his lips with his own in a pure, chaste, almost surreal touch that lasted for a mere few seconds –the longest in Sherlock’s life if anybody asked him, but no one would. Just like no one would ever know that this happened. That when John leaned back against the couch before staring at the ceiling in silence, all Sherlock could think of was that if he had had a 0,1% of alcohol more in his blood, he would have taken the doctor’s face in his hands and showed him what a real kiss was like.  
  
  
“Thank goodness Ms. Hudson didn’t see that.” Said John after a minute of not-at-all-awkward silence.  
  
“What?”  
  
John was looking at him again, smiling.  
  
“I said: Thank goodness Ms. Hudson didn’t see that.” He repeated himself, still smiling.  
  
“Oh, I am quite sure she has imagined it plenty of times.” Replied Sherlock, matter-of-factly.  
  
And then both burst into laughter for a whole five minutes. They laughed at the hilarity of the situation and they laughed because they didn’t want to say anything because what could they say? What was there to say, other than… ?

**Author's Note:**

> My first official fic in Enlgish, please don't be too hard. First chapter so far, but I promise this will develop into something interesting... okbye


End file.
